


Out of the Burning Buildings

by theskywasblue



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Plot What Plot, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-10
Updated: 2012-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-05 02:46:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They share a weird language of touches and looks</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Burning Buildings

**Author's Note:**

> for [](http://atanih88.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**atanih88**](http://atanih88.dreamwidth.org/) who is feeling a little down on her luck, but claimed she wouldn't say no to some Cougar/Jensen porn.

The rain stopped just before dawn; outside the windows of the hotel room, the world had a washed-out brightness, like metal scrubbed down to reveal the shine underneath, and light poured through the narrow balcony doors, splashing across the battered desk – cluttered with computer equipment and the shining metal carapaces of disassembled weaponry – and the lean, rickety bed. It lay out long, pale gashes on Jensen’s back and across his fingers where they curled around the tarnished brass headboard.

The bass felt hot – almost hot enough to melt under Jensen’s palms – but the heat was all his own, leeched from his sweaty hands as he used the headboard to support himself, to give himself the leverage to arch up and push back against Cougar, to counter the agonizingly slow roll of Cougar’s hips. He’d already gone hoarse from begging for speed, for force, for anything – nothing could rush Cougar through this. Rushing Cougar through anything was like trying to beat your way through a boulder or tear up a tree with your bare hands. All Jensen could do was press his forehead to the metal, or sometimes his slack mouth, and count out his breaths.

“Fuck – Cougar – please, c’mon,” he tried to rub the sweat from his eyes on the back of one, shaking arm and only succeeded in pushing it around – getting it into his eyes, smearing it on his raw lips. “Just a little more – just a little...”

“Shh...” Cougar palmed the back of his neck, trailed fingers down his spine. Jensen could picture the sweat pooling in the places where their bodies locked together, a surreal image of it like dew collecting on leaves in one of those cheesy animated movies. They had never gone this slowly before, though maybe it was because they had never really had the time. Until yesterday – hell, until a few hours ago – they were dead men, officially; and now they were alive, and more or less in one piece – if they didn’t count Pooch, who was probably going to cry if they didn’t let him out of bed soon to go and see Jolene – and Jensen couldn’t really blame Cougar for wanting to enjoy it, for wanting to stretch each moment as far as it could possibly go.

But _fuck_ – Jensen felt like his whole body was going to unravel. He didn’t even know how Cougar could do it, dragging back so slowly, nearly all the way, and then pushing back in deep, until his hips pressed against Jensen’s ass and Jensen could feel the pressure of it in the pit of his stomach, hot and blinding, until it was hard to breathe.

Though maybe Jensen understood – yeah, he definitely understood – after so many months of non-existence, how hard it was to let go of a decent reality; because maybe when they left this room, it would all go to shit again. After all, they were Losers, they didn’t exactly have a sparkling track record for keeping their heads above the metaphorical water. Maybe they’d die again, maybe they’d die _for real_ and he’d never touch Jensen again, never fuck him, never rub stubble-burn and wet kisses into the back of his neck.

Simpler than that, maybe he’d never sit on Jensen’s feet to keep them warm while he hacked his way into a government satellite, and maybe they’d never go to shitty bars together to drink cheap tequila until Jensen was sloppy drunk, playing tiddlywinks with the leftover skins from the lime wedges and Cougar’s hat while Cougar slept off the booze with his head in Jensen’s lap.

And those were all things that Cougar would never talk about, because Cougar never talked, really; except for the weird language that he and Jensen had worked out, their very own programming code of looks and touches. Jensen, though, he was a talker, and he let it all spill out – every ridiculous idea, every convoluted memory, spilled everything out into the space between his body and the headboard until there was nothing left but “Don’t stop, Cougar – don’t you ever fucking _stop_.”

But everyone had their limits, even Cougar, who saw permanently in crosshairs and was probably the best marksman the US military had ever trained.

The clouds slid back over the sun, and everything in the room went a sort of warm grey. Jensen stretched on his stomach, with Cougar tucked up against his shoulder, breathing slow and soft like he was already asleep, allowing Jensen to indulge in his hobby as a shameless cuddler. In a few hours, he’d have to get his ass out of bed to figure out how to get them their lives back without getting them all court marshalled. Hard work, even for a technical genius, but he’d pull it off.

Cougar could keep his feet warm while he figured it out.

-End-


End file.
